Read Online Last Shot (2006) by Gregg - Rackley 04 Hurwitz - Free Book Online
Authors: Gregg - Rackley 04 Hurwitz
Ads: Link
but not one that's part of CHAMPS."
Tim again braved the magnetic field between Ken's pride and Bear's fascination, finally managing to steer the topic back to Freddy Campbell.
"He didn't show for work again yesterday or today," Ken said. "And we're busy Sunday evenings, as you can see." He wrinkled his nose prudishly. "We get the late-night crowd spillover."
"Maybe serenity?" Bear volunteered.
Tim shot an elbow into Bear's McRibs, not wanting to break his own line of inquiry. "You've had problems with his employment?"
"McDonald's Corporation is extremely active in supporting the community," Ken said, as if reading from a brochure. "We do our best to help parolees reenter society, but we need some help and accountability as well, you know?"
"Sure," Tim said, nodding him along.
"I've certainly broached the topic with Freddy on numerous occasions. Customers mistake him for a homeless guy. I mean, you have to give back, but I also got a business to run, you know?"
Tim knew.
"He did this two weeks ago, too. A no-show Saturday and Sunday. Cutting out at four forty-five Friday afternoon, leaving the rest of his team to cover those last fifteen minutes. He claimed to have gotten sick with the flu, but that's the shortest flu I ever heard of. I'm thinking he had the hungover flu, if you catch my drift."
Tim did indeed.
"Plus," Ken continued, with mounting outrage, "not even a phone call so I could cover the shift. I told him one more time and--"
"Two weeks ago," Tim interrupted. "He didn't come to work the weekend after the Friday he got paid. July twenty-seventh."
"Right, that's right."
"You pay biweekly."
"Correct. So when he doesn't call..." It took a moment for the quarter to drop, and then Ken's eyes widened, and he fussed with his polyester tie indignantly. "This is the weekend after a Friday payday also. A pattern. You think he goes on a binge of some sort? After getting paid?"
"I'm thinking precisely that." Tim slid his card across the table to Ken, who regarded it as if assessing the corporate logo. "Next time he comes in, please give us a call. Before you fire him and send him on his way."
They stood at the curb in the unseasonably crisp night air, staring out at the strip of Century Boulevard and its host of vivid signage advertising burrito shacks, banks, tattoo parlors, pubs, auto detailers, gentlemen's clubs, window tinters, and all order of strip-mall industry. Cars and LAX shuttles clogged the streets even at this hour--travelers who'd stumbled off red-eyes or bleary partiers chasing the last-call schedule all the way to the seedy after-hours joints by the airport. Bear munched a Big Mac, which he'd paid for himself; he'd shot Tim the evil eye as he'd slid the bills across the molded counter with his index finger.
"All right," Tim said. "It's payday Friday. You get your check. No autodeposit. You don't have a car. You're a binge drinker. Your home life is not altogether pleasant. Where do you go?"
Bear guided the last double-decker wedge of beef and patty into his mouth and pointed at the bus stop a few storefronts up before something made his jaw halt midchew. He made some sort of sound around the mouthful of Big Mac.
"What?"
Bear's Adam's apple jerked once, and then he said, "Four forty-five. Friday. That's when Freddy left."
"Right. What are you...?"
Bear gestured at the sign, barely in view above the bus-stop shelter: FIRST UNION. Freddy's bank. "He goes to cash his paycheck before the bank closes. He wants cash in hand right away to go to..." His finger drew an arc down the block, past an Irish pub, to a woman's neon silhouette blinking, beckoning: THE BACK NINE. 24 HRS. "The one reliable place a man who looks homeless can go to drink around the clock and get covered with the 'stank' of knockoff perfume."
It was at such moments that Tim remembered why he was lucky to have Bear, with his bachelor proclivities, as a partner. They were almost out of the parking lot when a shout turned them
Tim again braved the magnetic field between Ken's pride and Bear's fascination, finally managing to steer the topic back to Freddy Campbell.
"He didn't show for work again yesterday or today," Ken said. "And we're busy Sunday evenings, as you can see." He wrinkled his nose prudishly. "We get the late-night crowd spillover."
"Maybe serenity?" Bear volunteered.
Tim shot an elbow into Bear's McRibs, not wanting to break his own line of inquiry. "You've had problems with his employment?"
"McDonald's Corporation is extremely active in supporting the community," Ken said, as if reading from a brochure. "We do our best to help parolees reenter society, but we need some help and accountability as well, you know?"
"Sure," Tim said, nodding him along.
"I've certainly broached the topic with Freddy on numerous occasions. Customers mistake him for a homeless guy. I mean, you have to give back, but I also got a business to run, you know?"
Tim knew.
"He did this two weeks ago, too. A no-show Saturday and Sunday. Cutting out at four forty-five Friday afternoon, leaving the rest of his team to cover those last fifteen minutes. He claimed to have gotten sick with the flu, but that's the shortest flu I ever heard of. I'm thinking he had the hungover flu, if you catch my drift."
Tim did indeed.
"Plus," Ken continued, with mounting outrage, "not even a phone call so I could cover the shift. I told him one more time and--"
"Two weeks ago," Tim interrupted. "He didn't come to work the weekend after the Friday he got paid. July twenty-seventh."
"Right, that's right."
"You pay biweekly."
"Correct. So when he doesn't call..." It took a moment for the quarter to drop, and then Ken's eyes widened, and he fussed with his polyester tie indignantly. "This is the weekend after a Friday payday also. A pattern. You think he goes on a binge of some sort? After getting paid?"
"I'm thinking precisely that." Tim slid his card across the table to Ken, who regarded it as if assessing the corporate logo. "Next time he comes in, please give us a call. Before you fire him and send him on his way."
They stood at the curb in the unseasonably crisp night air, staring out at the strip of Century Boulevard and its host of vivid signage advertising burrito shacks, banks, tattoo parlors, pubs, auto detailers, gentlemen's clubs, window tinters, and all order of strip-mall industry. Cars and LAX shuttles clogged the streets even at this hour--travelers who'd stumbled off red-eyes or bleary partiers chasing the last-call schedule all the way to the seedy after-hours joints by the airport. Bear munched a Big Mac, which he'd paid for himself; he'd shot Tim the evil eye as he'd slid the bills across the molded counter with his index finger.
"All right," Tim said. "It's payday Friday. You get your check. No autodeposit. You don't have a car. You're a binge drinker. Your home life is not altogether pleasant. Where do you go?"
Bear guided the last double-decker wedge of beef and patty into his mouth and pointed at the bus stop a few storefronts up before something made his jaw halt midchew. He made some sort of sound around the mouthful of Big Mac.
"What?"
Bear's Adam's apple jerked once, and then he said, "Four forty-five. Friday. That's when Freddy left."
"Right. What are you...?"
Bear gestured at the sign, barely in view above the bus-stop shelter: FIRST UNION. Freddy's bank. "He goes to cash his paycheck before the bank closes. He wants cash in hand right away to go to..." His finger drew an arc down the block, past an Irish pub, to a woman's neon silhouette blinking, beckoning: THE BACK NINE. 24 HRS. "The one reliable place a man who looks homeless can go to drink around the clock and get covered with the 'stank' of knockoff perfume."
It was at such moments that Tim remembered why he was lucky to have Bear, with his bachelor proclivities, as a partner. They were almost out of the parking lot when a shout turned them
Similar Books
